Radioactive
by The Readers Muse
Summary: When he'd gotten her out, he'd taken her hand. And honestly, until they'd reached the wall, that was how they'd stayed. Until necessity had pulled them apart and he found himself leaning up against the eastern gate, weaving his fingers together and boosting her up the moment the kid on guard turned the other way.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit during the latter half of season three, in Woodsbury, after "It's a Sorrowful life" but before the season finale. This will probably be proven very much AU after the season finale but hey, a girl can dream right? – Either way, consider this what I hope will happen in regards to Milton's character in the finale.

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton and the Governor's background, adult language, mature content, and well, smut.

**Radioactive**

When he'd gotten her out, he'd taken her hand. And honestly, until they'd reached the wall, that was how they'd stayed. Until necessity had pulled them apart and he found himself leaning up against the eastern gate, weaving his fingers together and boosting her up the moment the kid on guard turned the other way. Tossing the sack he'd hidden in an empty oil drum up behind her before following suit.

When it had happened, it had happened fast. There hadn't been time for questions or debate. Though she'd certainly tried, asking how and why and a million other half-heard whispers until he'd shushed her and fumbled with his belt knife, cutting through the ropes that had bound her hands with a few awkward tugs.

He'd winced as the stainless steel had groaned, warping and popping underneath her as she'd shifted in place. Yanking on the ropes tied around her ankles until he crouched down and dealt with those as well. Trying to ignore the frenzied beat of his heart as the last bond gave way and she nearly collapsed into his chest. Head resting in the crook of his arm for a long moment as the salty tang of fresh tears soaked into the sleeve of his jumper. Whether those were from gratitude or exhaustion, he didn't know.

All he knew was that when he'd taken her hand and pulled her upright, she'd smiled. Her blue eyes were back-lit with a caustic mix of anger and determination, completely at odds with the way her shirt collar did little to hide the bruises. The extent of Phillip's treatment made terribly clear. But in spite of it all, when he'd asked if she could walk, she'd nodded. Making for the door at a dead run as her fingers threaded between his, closing around him like a promise.

And when they'd hit the stairs and she still hadn't let go of his hand, he hadn't questioned it.

His lungs were already burning by the time they hit the tree line and stumbled through a half dried river bed. He let Andrea take the lead as she cut through the brush with far more confidence than he felt. Heart pounding and alert for the sound of pursuit as they cleared the ravine and crashed through a thicket of lying brush. It was only a matter of time before The Governor realized she was missing and even less before the man realized he was gone and put two and two together.

Internally, his mind was screaming, caught between telling him to run faster and screeching for him to turn back. Brain sending out bursts of conflicting information as panic rose up in his throat like bile and the sound of a revving engine roared to life in the distance.

_Christ, what was he doing?!_

He'd left Phillip. What kind of friend does that? Phillip needed him, perhaps now more than ever, even if he didn't know it himself. And here he was leaving. Just like the man's wife, and Penny, and well, _everything_. It wasn't right. It wasn't-

Only in spite of all that, he knew he wasn't being completely honest with himself. That man was gone. The man he'd been holding onto, the one who, before all this, he'd tentatively called his friend, had been erased. Broken down and remade by grief and rage into something lesser than he'd been before. Phillip had been the only senior in high school that _hadn't_ picked on him when he'd skipped three grades and hit high school before most kids were hitting puberty. He hadn't known if it was pity or morality, but Phillip, all tall, handsome and popular, had taken a liking to him early on and soon everyone knew better than to mess with him.

He'd faced the imposter on Main Street only a few days before. Desperate for a glimpse of that leggy teen who'd led the high school football team to the state championships three years running, or of the man who'd written his own vows and cried openly the day his daughter had been born. Only he hadn't found him. And honestly, he didn't know what was worse. The threats the man had leveled him with or the emptiness he'd seen reflected in those keen, ice-cold eyes when he'd forced himself to meet them.

He jumped over a fallen tree and skidded into a tangle of stripped berry bushes, defying gravity for a few ageless moments as he dug his palms into the loose soil and took off again. Watching Andrea's blond ponytail bob reassuringly just up ahead. Vest flying out behind her like some sort of parachute before she ducked underneath a low-lying branch and disappeared from sight.

And for one of the few times in his life, he actually cursed. He was damn well out of shape!

He caught up with her a few seconds later, slowing gaining ground until they were running almost side by side. Pace leveling out to match hers as she caught his gaze and smiled grimly. The distant growl of an eight cylinder engine being all the encouragement they needed to keep on running.

It was around the same time as when they caught sight of their first walker that he started reciting the periodic table inside his head. Getting as far as strontium by the time they blew past - leaving the biter, a thin, emaciated shell of an old woman, in both their physical and metaphorical dust as they gave it a wide berth. He found that the structure of the table soothed him. It was all absolutes and sureties in a moment where he was facing none of those things.

Phillip had always joked, long before the virus, that science was akin to his security blanket, and in a way, he certainly hadn't been wrong.

And when he looked back a few minutes later, just before Andrea angled them west and into a thick corpse of trees, he wasn't exactly sure how he felt about it when he realized that the terrible thing was still limping determinedly after them. A single black speck framed behind a rapidly darkening sky.

Because if that wasn't a metaphor for their lives these days, he didn't know what was.

There was a gun he didn't know how to use tucked in his waistband. He thought he would have forgotten about it by now, but without a holster it'd dug into his spine every other step. Proving itself impossible to ignore as his brain reminded him of every statistic he only half recalled about accidental discharges and faulty firing pins.

_Christ, had he even checked to see if the safety was on?!_

The knife strapped to his thigh was easier - unfamiliar, but safer. He'd swiped it from…_someone_. It has been lying on the table next to Andrea, the point sunk at least three inches deep into the thick mahogany finish, and honestly, he hadn't even thought twice about taking it. Like a magpie courting a piece of silver or a child hoarding a small pile of coins, he'd just snatched it and ran.

He didn't know what had gotten into him lately, but whatever it was, it had done distressingly little to calm his nerves. More like the exactly opposite actually. He was in over his head and he knew it.

He barely had time to process the change as they broke through the trees and stumbled into the small clearing. Most of the space was taken up with abandoned All-Cats and stacks of sewer piping, remnants of some county funded project – but near the edges a small cluster of stumps remained. Almost as if they'd just finished logging and were about to start digging before everything had gone to hell.

But before he could get a good look, Andrea suddenly whirled in place.

"Milton! Down!" She hissed, yanking him down behind a pile of abandoned construction equipment when he hesitated. Nearly doing a face plant into the side of the tractor-trailer as the sudden movement offset their balance, forcing Andrea to dig her heels into the dirt and take both their weights as he crouched down beside her. Steadying himself against the treads just in time to see a small herd of walkers stumble out of the brush not ten meters ahead of them.

He hadn't even_ heard_ them, but _she_ had. If he'd been alone he would have blundered right into them. _…Jesus._

He held the knife in front of him like a spear. Forcing himself to count backwards from a thousand as the growls of the undead grew louder, closing in from all sides as they shambled past. Lacing the air with their fetid stench as Andrea's hand curled around his shoulder. Firm and grounding as the raspy sound of worn fabric and grating bone rose up to fill the sudden silence.

_Caesium, barium, francism, radium… Now switch over to the lanthanoids. Come on Mamet, you know this. Focus. Concentrate. _

It wasn't until the group reached the other side of the clearing that she broke the silence. Face dirt streaked and drawn as she levered herself up and prodded at the desiccated remains of a corpse hanging out of the cab of the tractor trailer. Radio swaying in the breeze and faded hardhat left abandoned on the dash as the company logo glinted in the low light. Barely visible through the rusty rivulets of long dried blood and god only knows what else.

"How?" She asked quietly, eyes on the backs of the retreating walkers as the distant roar of thunder echoed through the clearing. Lighting up the side of the cement truck as another flare of lightening followed soon after. And despite the distance between them and the oncoming storm, he swore he felt the vibrations shiver through him as the hard packed Georgian clay crumbled and gave way under his feet.

"You'd think losing an eye would make him more careful. But he's gotten sloppy. He doesn't care who sees him anymore. So I followed him, I figured he'd eventually lead me to you and he did." He explained, adjusting the straps on his backpack as he spoke.

"He told everyone you'd gotten away. But I didn't believe him. I'm just sorry it took so long." He whispered back. Forcing his hands to still as his fingers itched to tuck one of her errant curls back behind her ear. Feeling it ghost across the base of his scalp as she turned around to face him at last.

"But why?" She demanded, voice harsh with exhaustion and probably a million other things she had every right to be feeling as she rubbed gingerly at her wrists - the skin raw and angry as she finally met his eyes. "Why after that whole speech about knowing where you belong and how you can't leave." She insisted.

"…Because it was the right thing to do," he replied after a long moment. "And you were right; it's time to stop turning the other way," he finished, tone low enough that she could hear, but not loud enough to alert the biters that had just passed through, hoping against all hope that she wouldn't ask anymore of him than that.

Because honestly, he wasn't that sure himself.

He didn't know for sure if he was doing the right thing. But lately, perhaps sometime between Mr. Coleman's reanimation and the last attack, he realized he was spending less time worrying about it than he probably should have. He used to be so meticulous, so careful. With every move planned down to the letter, complete with backups and contingency plans. But lately he'd been getting impulsive. Not careless exactly, but perhaps a bit more fluid, more oft to bend than break for example.

The problem was, he was too close to it to determine if that was a good thing or a bad thing anymore.

He didn't know them, Andrea's friends. Hell, he hardly knew _her_ when it really came down to it. He didn't know if they'd make it beyond this clearing, let alone the prison. Or what was waiting for him there if they did. But still, in spite of it all, he couldn't shake the feeling that _this_ was right. That what he'd done hadn't just been the moral thing, but perhaps what he hadn't even known he'd wanted in the first place. Because as messed up as this was, stumbling through the bush, half blind and exhausted, no matter what Phillip said, what he'd done _had _been right.

Besides, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he'd done otherwise.

But he was saved having to answer any more questions when a loud boom of thunder rolled out overhead, the clouds dark and practically roiling as Andrea cussed out a blue streak and leapt to her feet.

"Come on, the prison is only about five miles that way," she insisted, pointing north as she pulled her hair out of its elastic and shook it out, combing through it with her fingers as she made to continue. "If we're lucky we can make it there before the storm breaks," she affirmed, tying her hair back into a severe pony tail before they took off across the clearing and into the forest at a fast jog.

Unsurprisingly, they weren't that lucky.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – The second and final chapter will be posted tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed!

"_Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway."_ - Mary Kay Ash


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit during the latter half of season three, in Woodsbury, after "It's a Sorrowful life" but before the season finale. This will probably be proven very much AU when the season finale airs but hey, a girl can dream right? – Either way, consider this what I hope will happen in regards to Milton's character in the finale.

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton and the Governor's background, adult language, mature content, and well, smut.

**Radioactive**

_**Chapter 2**_

In fact, it didn't take much to realize that they were in for it. Because within a quarter of an hour, they'd slowed to a crawl, slipping in the mud and wet grass until neither of them were sure where one clap of thunder ended and the other began. Soon the rain had slicked back his hair and rendered even his glasses useless, forcing him to stow them in his pocket and squint into the distance as his near-sightedness turned the trees and bushes at the far edge of the clearing into shapeless blobs of undefined color and impossible depth.

They kept going until the rain had soaked clear through his clothes and had started running down the creases underneath his briefs. Making him feel half-drowned and decidedly soggy as he wrung out his collar and batted hair out of his eyes, forcing the soaked tendrils off his face as a few random strands began curling at his temples. Giving him flashbacks to fifth grade and that one terrible haircut that'd made his hair curl up into tight little pin curls all over his head. Just like his mothers used to in high summer.

Only Andrea kept looking back at him like she'd never seen him before, gaze lingering and intense as he ran his fingers through his hair and straightened the straps on his backpack. Not quite sure what to make of the sudden attention as he plucked unhappily at his dripping jumper, trying in vain to pull it away from his skin as the sodden material clung to every curve, highlighting every dimple, dent, and arc as the hard line of his belt bit into his navel.

It wasn't until the downpour began edging towards torrential that he finally put his foot down, tugging Andrea by elbow as they skidded to stop underneath the branches of a scraggly looking willow. He had to lean in until his lips were practically pressed against the shell of her ear, struggling to be heard amidst the thunder and rain as water streamed off their clothes with a volume that seemed to rival that of Niagara Falls itself.

"We have to stop!" He yelled, backpack hanging precariously off of one shoulder as he wiped rainwater out of his eyes.

"We're so close!" She insisted, "Maybe two miles from the main gates," only proving his point when she nearly inhaled a lungful of water in the process.

"He can't follow us over open ground with the weather being like this right now anyway. Most of the vehicles have all seasons – not enough traction if they get caught in the mud! He won't risk wiping out his only mode of transportation this far away from town," he pointed out.

"Fine, we'll rest here for fifteen minutes. And if the storm hasn't cleared, we carry on regardless. He might not be able to follow us across land, but he can stake out the main roads along the way and depending on the direction could even cut us off before we reach the fence," she said decisively.

He nodded in response, pathetically grateful for the reprieve as he pointed towards a mostly sheltered overhang, settled underneath a small carne of rocks and a massive oak before he angled towards it. Andrea hit the dirt with barely a pause and he wasn't long to follow. Mindless of the mud and gunk he sank down against the scarred truck, muscles trembling as he struggled out of his pack and slumped against the uneven bark.

He wasn't sure what prompted it, but as he collapsed against the tree, thighs burning and chest still heaving, she was on him before he could even so much as blink. Trembling hands unzipping the front of his sweater and pulling it right over his head before he could fully process the movement. Making him splutter and balk as a thin stream of water dribbled down from his hairline.

She dropped the soaked garment behind her with an audible splat. The movement careless yet still strangely graceful as she set the gun off to the side and moved in close. Too close. He was surprised by how little he actually protested when she started on the buttons of his dress shirt.

"…Wha-what are you doing?" He managed. Nearly biting off his own tongue when her thighs slid between his, leaving no secret to her interest as she pushed her knee gently into the cradle of his thighs, firm but ripe with intent as he twitched backwards. Squirming in place as the unexpected friction, coupled with his wet clothes had his cock stirring in interest, confined and uncomfortable as it pressed up against the unforgiving denim.

"Shush," she murmured.

"You don't have to-_merfgh_!" He began, only to be cut off in mid-word as she leaned forward, bracing one of her hands up against the trunk and the other into his hair as she took advantage of his distraction and struck.

She swallowed his watery meep of surprise with a closed mouthed kiss. Eager, yet tentative, as if she was expecting him recoil or push her away. As it turned out, she shouldn't have worried.

"I want to. I need to. I need to feel somethi-" She explained, half panting as she shrugged off her vest and peeled off her thin white t-shirt with hardly a second of hesitation. Bra askew, and straps tangling as his fingers sunk into the curve of her spine - nearly coming undone right then and there as her breasts grazed across his forearm.

But he didn't even let her finish, because suddenly, before he could think it through, he found himself surging up into her with everything he had - mirroring her words a thousand fold as he yanked her down by the elbows and kissed her.

Because suddenly he wanted it all, her, this, the thunder rolling out overhead - even the growing chance of electrocution they were risking by resting underneath what was undoubtedly the tallest tree in nearly a mile. He wanted this desperate, frantic struggle as their teeth clashed together and he still couldn't figure out where to put this hands. He wanted more of the pine needles digging into his palms and the blood welling up between his fingers as a dozen different half-healed nicks and cuts split open under the pressure.

Because he understood, he needed to need something, _someone_. And much like her, he found that he just couldn't wait.

He'd always been so careful. Timid and maybe even a touch shy if he was being honest with himself. But now he didn't want to be anything like himself. He didn't want to be anything like the Milton Mamet that had woken up at the end of the world and realized he had remarkably little to show for it. He didn't want to be the man that had shunned people for science and given up chances for love and attraction in favor of the next big breakthrough. Nor did he want to be reminded of the Milton who had telecommuted to work rather than interact with people. Telling the same lie over and over again when people had asked why he didn't just get an apartment in the city or move closer to work - content in his simple, scheduled existence until he was suddenly faced with the realization that he didn't really like that person at all.

Because for right now, he wanted to be the Milton that Andrea wanted. The Milton that wanted everything she was willing to give him and not regret it later. He wanted it hard and fast and unnecessarily rough so that it felt nothing like himself at all. He wanted to feel it. Not just in his mind but buzzing underneath his skin. Unjaded and electric as the mere memory was enough to make him catch his breath.

Somewhere along the line - seemingly without his consent, his hand had found its way into her pants, fingers still stinging from where he'd unsnapped the button of her jeans and ripped down the zipper. Moving with more confidence than he felt as he thumbed aside her panties and made a few quick circles around her clit, rough edged and unpracticed as he used his free hand to bridge the last few inches that remained between them. Unable to stop himself from thrusting up in time as she soaked his hand right to the wrist, slick and warm around him as she gushed over his fingers with a surprised squeal. Nerve endings alive with the sensation as she contracted around his hand, soft flesh fluttering around the pads of his fingers as he slapped his hand over her mouth just in time, muffling her shriek of pleasure as a bolt of lightning lit up the premature dark.

There was a roaring in his ears that he figured he should probably be more concerned about than he actually was. Only there was no time and the sound of movement rustling through the bushes to the left was making this both the most exciting and exceedingly stupid thing he'd probably ever done in his entire life. Yet he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Not about the rain, the dirt, or the bits of forest that he'd probably be picking out of his skin for at least a week. Not when she was bearing down on his fingers, treating him to such a smooth glide that he figured it had to be illegal somewhere.

And despite the fact that this really wasn't the right time or place to be doing this, she certainly didn't seem to mind. Or even care one way or another if the way she was bucking up against him was any indication. Desperate and panting for it as he yanked the waistband of her panties clear down the curve of her hip. Hearing something rip along the way as his free hand curled around her ponytail and brought her down for a brutal kiss - all clashing teeth and too eager tongues as he rolled the nub of her clit between his thumb and forefinger. Sucking a bruise into delicate flush of her throat, giving as good as he got when she returned the favor - exercising himself of a lifetime of playing it safe as he groaned in pleasure.

He didn't know how it could be enough at this angle, but when he crooked his fingers and mashed down on her clit, she came with all the temerity of a god damned _freight train_. All soft, warm and wet – but with a grip like a _vice_ as she soaked his hand to the wrist and she muffled her cry into the crook of his neck, making him groan in spite of himself as she bottomed out and sunk her nails into his shoulders.

Jesus, fuc-

She pulled free of his fingers with a liquidity sounding squelch and a moan that made his dick twitch. Leaving him thrusting into empty air in a vain attempt to get some sort of friction as she clambered off him and nearly wiped out in the muddy earth.

"Shhh, I've got you." She hummed, pulling her pants up one handed as she fell to her knees in front of him. Her blue eyes bright and decidedly wicked as she took him in hand and swirled her thumb through the pool of pre-come that had collected on the tip, pressing down until his hips stuttered.

He held back a whimper as her tongue ran across her lower lip, all sensual and teasing as his spine curled inward, away from the rough bark and pungent sap as she curled her hand around the base of his cock and lowered her head. She nearly gave him a god damned heart attack as her tongue flicked out to taste him. The action coy and downright deliberate as her eyes darted up to meet his gaze. Fixing him with a knowing look and a pleased smile when he moaned in response, the echoes swallowed by a convenient crack of thunder as she took him in her mouth and sucked him down to the root.

And when he came, spilling over her fingers with a shallow, surprised sounding gasp, muttering half-formed words into her curls as he failed to hold back the strangled whine that issued from the back of his throat, he could have sworn that he smelled gasoline.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This is my first Milton-centric story and the first I have written for the pairing, so feedback would be much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed! - I also want to take a moment and thank all my reviewers for this story. Each and every one was absolutely cherished, I realize that Milton/Andrea is a tiny ship...more like a dingy really, so it is amazing to have gotten the feedback I did for this story. I am glad to know that I'm not the only one out there that has been drawn to this pair!

"_You cannot teach a man anything; you can only find it within yourself."_ – Galileo Galilei


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